Correspondence
by BittenAndStaked
Summary: Post season 6 AU, Spike is AWOL for his soul, Buffy is alone. How do they feel? Can't say anymore. Series of fictions leading up to the main fiction Correspondence. R
1. Fight Against The Hours

  
  
Author: Bitten And Staked  
  
Title: Fight against the hours.  
  
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Summary: Buffy sits alone in her house and lets her thoughts wander to Spike and she misses him.  
  
Timeline: Post Season 6. It's summer and Spike is AWOL [to get his soul], Buffy reminisces about him and winds up feeling lonely.  
  
Pairing: Buffy [and Spike].  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: everyone else owns Buffy and all associated with her.  
  
Feedback: always welcome so email me - webmaster@talesoftheslayer.com  
  
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**It was late, the little red numbers spelt out 3am had been and passed still Buffy couldn't sleep. She moved silently across the room to the window and pulled it open, allowing a cool night breeze to creep in. It reminded her of him, sneaking in like a shadow in the night to slip into bed beside her and make her crave him more.**   
  
Wrapping her arms tight around herself she watched the desolate street below, everything so peaceful and calm in the early hours of the morning. Those hours that used to belong to them now only belonged to her and it made her feel cold. Now she wanted to feel it, like ice on her skin in remembrance of when he used to touch her, caressing her flesh into goose bumps. Running her fingers down her front she smiled at the sight of her black satin nightdress, the one she always wore for him.   
  
Sighing as she turned away from the window Buffy unwrapped the towel from her hair and let it slip languidly to the floor as she walked towards the bed. It was always worse at night since the night was eternally theirs; it was their world, the world that belonged to the dead.   
  
Letting her wet hair fall down around her neck she closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet memory of the kisses he would plant there, teasing her with the thought that maybe this time he'd sink cold fangs into her warm and supple flesh then Buffy would really feel alive. She gave a glance to her wardrobe and shuddered as a cold chill swept up her spine.   
  
Leaning over to her bedside table she flicked on her stereo and skipped forwards a few tracks. Dawn was away from the house tonight getting in some well-deserved girl time with her friends. This past week whenever Dawn was out of the way Buffy fell into a routine, this routine.   
  
Sitting on the bed she curled up and hugged her knees close to her, staring at the wardrobe she replayed the images in her mind. Something inside her knew his criminal act was partially her fault but when she had gone to tell him, to let him know it was all some big mistake and that she was sorry - all she had found was an empty crypt.   
  
She'd stood there for over an hour, frozen to the same spot she had been in when the reality had hit her that he'd left and there was no knowing if he'd ever come back. She'd argued with herself out loud that what she felt was stupid and a lie, that she didn't need him, she was better off without him. But some small part of her had fought back, she did need him, not only to make her feel but to be there for her, a constant in her weary life. And now he was gone.   
  
The crypt looked blue and icy cold in the moonlight, furniture scattered and torn. A reminder that she had blown up everything he had and then dumped him, all on a whim to please Riley. What did he know about their relationship? It was destructive but she had needed it's stabilizing factor in her life, the thought that if things went bad there was always Spike ready to cheer her up again, to tell her things would get better, to reassure her with a soft kiss and a tilt of the head as he narrowed his eyes gently on hers.   
  
She'd stayed there for the longest time, dredging up old memories and wandering about in a dream. Absentmindedly she'd headed downstairs, or what was left of downstairs, to where they used to sleep together. Filtering through all the damage she had chanced upon a little tattered black box. Pulling the lid off she had discovered a photo of her that had been taped to a photo of him, she remembered them as the ones that her mother had took at Christmas time. Buffy smiled in faint recognition of the Christmas before her mother had passed away, the silly presents Spike had got them all just so he could get a hot chocolate in return.   
  
Lifting off the pictures her eyes had widened at what was below them. Two very old books were looking back at her, nineteenth century poetry and a book of Shakespeare's sonnets, a cruel reminder of how romantic he could be if she'd let him. Buffy pushed them to one side and her heart had almost stopped at what she'd found hidden below them.   
  
Sitting there in front of her had been a tattered book; pieces of paper were stuffed into it awkwardly so it had no defined shape. She'd lifted it carefully from the box and ran her fingers softly over the cover. It was bound in patchy red brown leather, worn with time and etched on its cover was a black heart. Easing it open Buffy had flicked through page on page of neatly hand written words, poems and thoughts. Each one signed by her former vampire lover.   
  
Her throat had constricted as she'd hurriedly placed everything back into the box, reaffixing the lid she'd held it tight to her. It was all she had, coming out of her reverie she stared at the little box now resident on her the end of her bed. Each night she read through that little book, learning to know the man that she no longer had within her reach and every day feeling more sickened that she had let him go.   
  
Buffy had come to realise that everything he'd ever told her was true, shortly before his indiscretion in the bathroom she had noticed that when she looked deeply into his eyes that love was looking back at her. She'd shied away from it, pushed it away and told herself it wasn't real but each time her orbs met his it was there, honest and growing stronger each day.   
  
She slipped the book from the box and gently turned the pages, reading over the little thoughts he'd written down about their relationship. About how he wanted to be honest with her, how he needed to know how she felt and that she knew what they were doing.   
  
_Buffy doesn't seem to register the nature of our relationship. It's destructive to us both, not just her. It's killing me each day to touch her but not break the surface, she keeps herself locked away in a place I have no hope of reaching and yet I hope. I laugh at that. I hope to touch her virgin soul, to reach where no other man has, to make her open up to me and smash down her defences. If Angel couldn't do it how could I? A monster that she doesn't register as a man - all for the lack of a soul. I can see it in her eyes each time she looks at me. Pain and disgust, fear and hatred, lust and desire all burning in those beautiful clear eyes of hers. She knows that I love her, I'm in love with her and as much as I hate this I can't change a damn thing. She plays me over and over like a broken record and each time I crawl back for more. _  
  
_Why I do this to myself I'll never know maybe being able to touch her makes unlife worthwhile but as the days pass I feel I'm losing myself. Each time we make love she puts up another barrier, another wall to keep me out as the one behind comes tumbling down. For a split second I see her, clear and attainable if only I could reach out quick enough to touch her soul. But the barriers are as swift as her retribution when she kicks me to the kerb. I love her, I wish I didn't. It's like torture to be in love with someone who curses the ground you walk on. She'll understand one day, maybe when I'm dust, she'll understand I loved her and in some small way she loved me back. _  
  
Buffy hugged the book and looked about the room, tears blurred her vision but she stifled them. Placing the book on the bed she leant over and pressed play on her CD as she slipped off the bed.   
  
Opening her wardrobe she steeled herself as she reached inside, retrieving his leather duster from it's hiding place amongst her clothes. She held it to herself in the mirror and breathed in deeply, it still smelt of him but his scent was fading like her memories. Closing her eyes she hung it on the wardrobe door and slipped back onto the bed, watching it hanging there facing her.   
  
As the music started on her stereo she picked up the book and held it to her again.   
  
_I'm here, sitting in a bed  
In a place where I don't feel at home_  
  
The breeze caught her soft muslin curtains and made them dance. Buffy sighed and watched their sad movements as the music washed over her.   
  
_Where are you, I sure don't know why  
You haven't called me, you promised you would_  
  
She felt chill as she turned her eyes back to his duster, it moved slightly in the draught and she could see him in it, walking around the room like a ghost, a shadow in the night haunting her. She remembered the first time she'd seen him after her friends had bought her back from the dead, he'd looked after her, admitted he'd counted the days since she'd left and inside she'd felt warmed.   
  
_The phone must be broken it has to be broken  
I'm sure there's a reason, say there's a reason_  
  
Buffy took the photo of him from the box and tucked its edge into the book she held, staring at it she felt so alone and empty at the sight of happier times. She'd always taken for granted that he would be there until the end and beyond. She remembered visiting his crypt, hearing him tell her that every night he saved her, he'd relived the night she'd died over a hundred and fifty times and each time found some way of stopping her from dying. Squeezing it tightly she fought against the tidal wave of emotion building up inside her.   
  
_I fight against the hours, I cannot go to sleep  
I know that if I lay down now,   
Inside I know I'll weep  
Guess I'm holding on to treasures  
To things that just aren't there  
To people that I used to know,   
To words I wish to hear. _  
  
She stood up slowly and pulled the duster of its hanger, holding it flush against her it was cold like him and she felt a crack in her defences as she wished he were there. Laying herself down onto her bed she spread the coat out next to her and pressed her cheek against its shoulder, wishing that we were in it, that his arms would slip around her and he'd whisper 'I love you Buffy' as he kissed her hair softly.   
  
_I'm here, thinking only of you  
Wish to know, if I need to go_  
  
Looking at her pillow she replayed the last time he'd laid there, watching her feigning sleep as she secretly watched him in return. His eyes shining blue like summer skies, she'd wanted to drown in them, to give up her fight and hold him tightly to her, to let him in.   
  
_And I try, I swear to you that I try  
But you haven't called me, you promised you would_  
  
He'd watched her so quietly, only moving enough to gently stroke her hair and smile at her. He'd sighed as she'd pressed her hand to his chest and let it remain there, and Buffy had smiled inwardly at how happy he had looked at her action but now she cursed herself for never giving him more.   
  
_The phone must be broken, it has to be broken  
I'm sure there's a reason, say there's a reason_  
  
As she gathered up his duster in her arms and clasped it to her, she felt something in the pocket. Slipping her hand in she found his lighter and remembered the time he'd come over to get it back off her after she'd found it in the couch. His proximity had made her hot, flustered and when he'd slipped his hand into her pocket to retrieve what was his she'd almost broken down. Buffy flicked the lighter on and held her fingers over the flame, she felt cold and nothing more. Closing her eyes she flicked it shut and gripped it tightly in her hand.   
  
_I fight against the hours, I cannot go to sleep  
I know that if I lay down now,   
Inside I know I'll weep  
Guess I'm holding on to treasures  
To things that just aren't there  
To people that I used to know,   
To words I wish to hear. _  
  
He'd still be here if she'd not pushed him away, not forced him into that terrible act that had scarred them both. He'd be laying next to her, his cool white skin pressed to hers and his scent of cigarettes and crypt filling her senses. She missed the feeling of him near her, holding her in the night when she had nightmares of the grave. Buffy slipped his duster on then pulled the book and photo to her chest, clasping it there with her hand that still held his lighter. It was all she had of him, memories and a few reminders of who he was. Tears welled up in her eyes and she struggled to hold them back.   
  
_I'm thinking about you, wondering about you  
Do I really know you, have I ever known you_  
  
Letting her eyes fall closed again Buffy curled up into a ball, she missed him more than words could express. This week she'd written a dozen letters to him but had no where to send them, all her thoughts, all the things she used to be able to tell him she had put onto paper in the hope one day he'd come back to her and could read them. So he could know how she really felt, how much he meant to her and how she couldn't cope without him. That she needed him more than anything.   
  
_I fight against the hours, I cannot go to sleep  
I know that if I lay down now,   
Inside I know I'll weep  
Guess I'm holding on to treasures  
To things that just aren't there  
To people that I used to know,   
To words I wish to hear. _  
  
As the music faded Buffy drifted off to sleep still holding his duster tight around her and clasping his picture to her chest. Mouth opening in a sigh she let slip a single tear.   
  
  



	2. Something I Can Never Have

  
  
Author: Bitten And Staked  
  
Title: Something I can never have.  
  
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Summary: Spike lives with the torment of his soul, as it starts getting quieter it focuses on one specific thing he did, he realises now is the time to seek forgiveness. Spike part of Fight Against The Hours.  
  
Timeline: Post Season 6 AU. Spike never came back after getting his soul, he's now settled in England to recuperate and it's been 2 and a half years since he's seen Buffy.  
  
Pairing: Spike [without Buffy].  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Disclaimer: everyone else owns Buffy and all associated with her.  
  
Feedback: always welcome so email me - webmaster@talesoftheslayer.com  
  
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**He knew their faces, voices, knew inside him that they'd never looked like that, it was the soul twisting and deforming them, making them appear that way, like horror made real in meat and bone and blood - blood that he could almost smell, taste, like a faint tang of metallic in his mouth, the memory of human blood. When the first ones came they appeared like he'd remembered them, every one a human but days, weeks, months passed and each time they visited him they became more transfigured. Flesh peeling away in ragged strips exposing torn muscle and sinew, bloodied and dying, screaming his name and curdling his blood as they faded away, rotting, melting into nothing more than dust and food for the worms.**   
  
They were battered, tortured and bruised, skin lacerated and bleeding tears of deepest crimson, metal bonds cutting into their soft flesh, puncturing their skin until blood flowed out of them like a waterfall, it sickened him. He'd never done anything like that, never tortured anyone until they died from the torment and pain, that had been Angels doing, Angels penchant, he'd always been quick, merciful - _don't play with your food William, it's impolite_.   
  
Spike knew he was being punished - driven to dementia by the one thing he thought would save him, help him be the man he wanted to be, the man he should be. This was to be the contrition he had to embrace, suffering a century of murder every night, every day, every time he closed his eyes. How much blood had he spilt? Enough that his soul felt like it was twisting upon itself inside him, wrenching and distorting him along with it. Pain, misery and eternal damnation were his now, this is what he deserved, judged by his own soul to suffer infinity of blackness surrounded by the people he'd destroyed.   
  
But time heals all, his flesh, his mind, his soul. They were quieter now, distant sounding like he was underwater and they were only echoes in his head. But they still came, still tormented him, less deformed, less blackened, less sickening, all except one. One his soul clung to, the one that had pushed him into desiring it back and the soul he'd won, fought hard to gain, thought it fitting he should suffer more over that one than any other, so it gave him the visions, the dream and the nightmare.   
  
  
A cool night breeze blew in through the window, parting the curtains softly and allowing the pale blue beams of the full moon to enter. The dark room was suddenly illuminated in cold empty light revealing him sitting curled up in a chair staring blankly into nothingness. If he didn't move, didn't think then it didn't hurt, much.   
  
Switching his gaze to the window he stared at the moon with envy, it looked so peaceful up there bathing in the stars and bringing light to the millions. Spike used all his effort to concentrate on the sound of cars passing by in the street below, he couldn't think because that always lead to the voices coming back, if his mind was quiet then they were too. They were practically gone now, over 2 years on from getting his dried up and broken soul bloodied again, and he didn't want them back.   
  
It was the 870th time he'd had that dream, at first it had come every time he chanced to sleep along with all the others, but now the others were gone and only it remained, it was becoming less frequent but it was still painful. Subconsciously he scratched at his bare chest, it itched sometimes when he remembered the horrific things he'd done, when he broke down, holding himself tight and crying until he choked on the sobs that convulsed his tired body. He wondered if Angel had felt like this, but then Angel hadn't tried to rape the girl he loved, he'd just tried to kill her. On the edge of his senses he felt the pain creeping in, advancing slowly like an army.   
  
Taking a ring off his little finger he stared at it, it was a skull design and he smiled frailly at the memories of happier times, even if it was a spell gone wrong. Trying to focus on good times he struggled against it but couldn't block out her voice for long, her screaming at him to stop, begging him. Screwing his eyes shut Spike hugged his knees tightly and heard the ring slip from his hand at the same time as the rush of images hit him.   
  
Buffy was on white tiles, pushing at something, he realised she was pushing at him, struggling against him as he attacked her. He could hear her voice clearly, it was pained and it was bitter and it was telling him she could never love him. His view switched and he was watching himself forcing her to the floor, pinning her roughly as he grinned maliciously, she was crying now, there was always blood, there'd never been blood but when his soul taunted him it made the tiles seep with it until it was a sickening contrast. Crisp white virgin tile tainted with dark red blood, sticky and sinful.   
  
Sucking a breath in sharply as his head cleared Spike choked and reached out for the glass beside him. He could handle all the others, the thousands he'd killed, they could taunt him into eternity and now he was so used to it he wouldn't care but hurting Buffy, doing something so sickening to her made him wretched. Spike rocked back and forth in his chair, struggling with his emotions and begging his soul for forgiveness.   
  
Looking at his hand he realised instead of holding a glass he was holding his picture of her, he bought it to him and rested it against his knees, it had a strangely steadying effect on him. It was the only thing he'd taken with him when he'd left Sunnydale, a picture of Buffy that Dawn had given him, her green eyes were smiling up at him with her red lips parted softly, in the background was the Bronze. He was slightly shocked when a tear slipped from his cheek and ran down her face like she was crying, wiping it away with his thumb he ached inside.   
  
"I'm sorry pet."   
  
Spike placed the picture back down beside him and looked at the glass, empty. Standing up he saw the ring on the floor and sighed as he closed his eyes, bent over to pick it up and slipped it back onto his finger.   
  
Walking to the kitchen he powered up his stereo and looked about the flat, it wasn't much but he felt better having somewhere safe to sleep in, somewhere away from prying eyes. He could handle the pain, the memories that came to him and the voices in his head when he was alone, there were times when he'd been travelling across Europe to get back to England that people had seen him break down, holding himself and seemingly crying over nothing. He'd hated that, looking weak and pathetic just like he really was.   
  
Reaching for the tap he paused for a moment and stared at the bottle of bourbon by the sink, dragging his eyes away from it he filled the glass with water and headed back into the living room.   
  
Drinking half the glass before he'd even sat back down Spike looked at the picture of Buffy again, letting the soft piano of the song wash over him he tried to remember the good times again but failed.   
  
_I still recall the taste of my tears  
Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears  
My favourite dreams of you still wash ashore  
Scraping through my head till I don't want to sleep anymore_   
  
Staring blankly out of the window he remembered his dreams, they never started off bad, they just ended that way. Buffy was walking into his crypt, sunlight streaming in and she smiled as she raised a stake in her hand. As she neared him her hand dropped and he kissed her, after pulling back for a second she crushed her mouth against his in a kiss that seemed to last forever. Then it was suddenly night, Buffys bedroom and he was moving slowly against her under the sheets, she was staring deeply into his eyes with a look that was almost love but then as the scene played out it switched to the bathroom, cold white tiles and Buffy screaming. He shuddered as a chill swept up his spine and he stared at her picture.   
  
_You make this all go away  
You make this all go away  
I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself  
You make this all go away  
You make this all go away  
I just want something  
I just want something I can never have_   
  
He felt empty inside as he missed her, he had managed to hit the bottom and sink further still but now he was clawing his way back to a place where he could stand a little taller, irrevocably changed but only for the better. He knew now why he did it, he was desperate, had gone there to apologise but something had happened between him entering the house and making it upstairs. He'd become scared, desperate for her to love him, to admit she felt something for him, willing to do anything for a sign that she cared. She'd pushed him to the limit, screwed with his head so much he didn't know if he was coming or going. She'd pushed him one step too far, but it still didn't justify his actions. When he'd overstepped the mark he'd realised there was no going back, something had to change and it wasn't her, it was him.   
  
_You always were the one to show me how  
Back then I couldn't do the thing I can do now  
This thing is slowly taking me apart  
Grey would be the colour if I had a heart_   
  
Holding himself as he stared at the moon he could feel it inside burning him up, eating him alive, tearing him down. He'd thought it would make him better, a fast painful solution that would solve all his problems but he'd been wrong. It hurt more than expected, scorched him with fire that burnt hotter than a thousand suns, Angel had never looked as bad as Spike had first felt, he'd never felt like he was falling into hell. He ran his finger down her face, cold glass hard under his fingers, distant to him like she'd always been.   
  
_Come on tell me  
You make this all go away  
You make this all go away  
I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself  
You make this all go away  
You make this all go away  
I just want something  
I just want something I can never have_   
  
He needed her, needed to fall into her arms and feel her wrap them around him tight, touching his cheek softly in the most tender of caresses, her sweet voice whispering in his ear that it was okay, she loved him, she forgave him, he was her everything. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood he forcibly held back his sobs, choking on every one of them. He saw now there would be no forgiveness, no love, no tender touches, just burning seething hatred of him, because he was too scared to go back to Sunnydale when he should've done, couldn't face her, couldn't see the pain in her eyes reflecting how badly he'd hurt her, couldn't be the man he wanted to be.   
  
Moving to the window Spike stared up at the stars and wondered what she'd be doing right now, it would be late evening back there and he pictured her happily sitting around the house with her friends, safe and secure just like he'd always wanted her to be. Looking down at the picture he held limply at his side he cursed himself for not being able to go back there, not being able to even tell her he was alive, letting two years pass without a sign of his existence. She asked about him, he knew that, he knew Rupert. He told Spike things that maybe he shouldn't have and Spike held things inside that he should have told him about, but the more Rupert told him that Buffy still asked about him the more he locked things away from peoples prying eyes, kept them inside for only her to know.   
  
_In this place it seems like such a shame  
Though it all looks different now, I know it's still the same  
Everywhere I look you're all I see  
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be_   
  
He'd come to Bath because it was the one place in England where he'd lived as just the man and not the monster, only William had walked these streets, entered these buildings, only as a human and not as a vampire.   
  
Rupert had told him so much, had helped him deal with things but didn't know why he was so changed, so altered, so badly screwed up inside, hollow and haunted. He didn't see the pain and the torture that came with sleep, he didn't see the suffering he had endured before he even made it to Bath, he didn't see the black hollow hell that ate him up inside with it's thousands of screaming voices telling him to go to eternal damnation. It tempted him, he could end it all and Buffy wouldn't know, or would she? Spike sat down and leant against the pillows on his bed, would she know if he crumbled to dust, like he'd know if something happened to her, he'd feel it deep in him. He couldn't bottle out, he'd come so far, changed himself so much to be a better man, the kind of man that she deserved, she had to know he was alive. Spike had instructed Rupert to keep her in the dark about his existence, he wasn't ready for her to know, wasn't ready to tell her all the things he'd done and wasn't ready for her to laugh at him, to think him a fool for believing it would make a difference to her and how she felt, he was beneath her. Clenching his jaw he scratched his nails hard down his chest, clawing at himself and flaring his nostrils as he stared at her picture. It burnt, it itched and it consumed him.   
  
_Come on tell me  
You make this all go away  
You make this all go away  
I'm down to just one thing and I'm starting to scare myself  
You make this all go away  
You make this all go away  
I just want something  
I just want something I can never have_   
  
Pulling his hand away and staring at it as though he hadn't realised what he was doing Spike rubbed his thumb against his bloodied fingertips. Widening his eyes as he realised something he pulled her picture towards him, he needed forgiveness soon, he needed it before this burning inside his soul killed him. Looking at the calendar on the table beside him he frowned at the date, calculating slowly how long it had been since he'd seen her, since that night.   
  
A thousand days had passed, a thousand days of burning, a thousand days of torture, a thousand days of suffering for his sins, a thousand days of fighting against the undercurrent, a thousand days without her and he couldn't face another one. It was time to face it, time to see if everything he'd done would make a difference, would make her forgive him.   
  
Stumbling towards the desk he felt the fire in him, his spark of humanity igniting again, burning him to ashes. Screwing his face up as the images of a thousand dead people surfaced he managed to push them back down inside him, lock them away again. A thousand days of suffering was enough repentance for a thousand dead, now it was time to face the living.   
  
Staring at the paper he picked up the pen in his left hand and swallowed hard. Trying not to think about what her reaction would be he pushed the nib onto the paper and his hand shook violently, setting her picture down beside him he grasped his wrist with his other hand and steadied it. This was going to take eternity, as he managed to write the letter 'B' the images came rushing back again and he broke down again, whimpering and sobbing her name. Sucking a breath in he steadied himself and scratched out the next letter…   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
